


Agent Provocateur

by Cookiebelle



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-27
Updated: 2013-06-27
Packaged: 2017-12-16 07:20:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,929
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/859423
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cookiebelle/pseuds/Cookiebelle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Abigail drags Hannibal lingerie shopping.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Agent Provocateur

There is a certain degree of sexiness one must uphold when sleeping with another person, especially when the initial novelty of the relationship has worn off. The clothes Alana had purchased Abigail while she resided in the hospital were stylish, yes, but the undergarments were designed simply for functionality. They were cotton, in girlish colors and unflattering cuts, not meant to be seen by hungry eyes, and made Abigail feel childish every time Hannibal pulled her clothes away. She wanted to look like a woman to him, like the women he may have been with before, but the combination of her less than voluptuous figure and aforementioned underclothes contributed nothing to this cause. He expressed an immediate distaste the night he undressed her and found there was nothing separating her jeans or camisole from her flesh. He was a man that strove for coordination in every aspect, and she was not separate from that desire. Not to mention he relished undressing her, from outer clothes to porcelain skin, he unwrapped her like a gift. The look of distaste he had given her spoke louder than any words he could have said, burning into her brain and roiling her stomach. She knew that would no longer do.

The Saturday proceeding that night, Hannibal and Abigail ate breakfast in comfortable silence. It was Abigail who abruptly broke it, startling herself with her own voice.

"Are you. Doing anything today?" She followed this question with a sip of rich Turkish coffee, watching his reaction.

"I have some errands to attend to, yes. Why?"

"In the city?"

"Why, Abigail?"

Without meaning to, she shrunk into her seat. "I was thinking maybe. You would want to go shopping."

"For clothes?" his eyebrows knit in curiosity.

“Not exactly. I have clothes,” Her voice grew quieter with each word, feeling meek. She did not like to ask for things if he didn’t offer; didn’t want to be a burden, or give him any reason to seek a woman who was older and established, more mature. She did not yet understand the nature of Hannibal’s affection, and that no woman could elicit the same feelings as she did to him.

“Then what?” He tilted his head in amusement.

"I need bras and panties…” She mumbled, his head tilting toward her to hear. He hated her mumbling, he wanted confidence, not meekness.

“You do, don’t you,” he almost chuckled, feeling the tension from Abigail’s discomfort lift from the room. For a moment he considered, then nodded, “I will be in the city, so while I’m tending to what needs to be done, you can shop.”

The tension returned. Her face fell in the most miniscule of manners, but the disappointment was written across her face in bold type. “You wouldn’t want to come with me?” He hadn’t considered she would want him there. The situation seemed less than ideal, something that would make her uncomfortable. But with further thought he understood.

"If that’s what you want,” he punctuated the statement with a nod, and she rose, delighted, to move across the table and kiss his cheek. In a second she had disappeared to dress, and in what seemed like a second later she had returned in light clothes. Spring had finally arrived.

In the car they listened to the sounds of new birds and people happily chatting along the streets of the suburbs and into the city, a Chopin concerto playing lightly on the stereo. There was no need for conversation, it would kill what beautiful comfort they shared in their silence, the energy that radiated off each of them in long, shallow waves filling that need. The young woman’s hand never left his thigh during the journey.

The arrival to the garment district of Baltimore was a slow one, the traffic of seemingly every resident of the city and surrounding communities running their own Saturday errands filling the streets. Neither minded. They both stepped from the car after parking in an available spot and breathed the fresh air happily, Hannibal offering his arm to the Abigail as they walked along and approached the little boutique. With a hint of jealousy, she wondered if perhaps he knew of this certain place because a past lover shopped here, but shook her head of the thought. The bell rang as they entered, a woman in her thirties, tall, with stark black features, perked her head and examined the two of them. Her analysis was quick and superficial, immediately concluding that the two were not lovers, as Abigail was far too plain to be a sugar baby or the object of affection for a man who could afford such tastes as what was offered by this store; but perhaps she was his niece, or a goddaughter, but gods forbid they were truly lovers.

“Good afternoon,” the woman chirped, her tone icy and exact despite her smile, “Can I help you two find anything?” Her gaze upon the two, especially Abigail, was scrutinizing. Abi felt tiny holes bored into her with every flit of the woman’s eyes; Hannibal felt them also, looking the woman over with great precision.

“No, I think we know exactly what we are looking for, thank you,” Hannibal smiled pleasantly.

“Can I offer you a fitting? Complementary…” the woman smiled at Abigail.

“No. Thank you,” she returned the same icy smile, her eyes not matching her lips, “I think I’m okay.”

The woman smacked her lips, nodding curtly, “well, don’t be afraid to ask for help.” She stood still as the two nodded in appreciation and stepped away, Abigail immediately widening her eyes.

“Jesus..”

“Abigail,” he scolded, not for the word but for how loudly she chose to speak. She bit her lip and suppressed a giggle, pulling out the first set that she saw. It was instinct for her to check the price tag on everything she picked up, despite her knowing that Hannibal had more money than she could have ever imagined, and he found it particularly uncouth for her to worry about a thing such as money. It was difficult to break someone of such a habit, but she tried. Hannibal did not say a word when she nearly gasped at the price of the set, the expression she offered him clearly alarmed. He shook his head, like a parent to a child. Do not be improper, do not be indecent, do not worry.

“These tags are all in French and Italian…” she murmured, clearly frustrated, “And the sizes are European.”

“Did you not take French in high school?” He collected a few sets in his hand, things she passed over, guessing her size.

“Spanish, they didn’t offer French,” she chose a few sets herself, blacks and blues with lace and little bows, sheer or thickly padded. The experience was, on a small scale, intoxicating. She pictured herself a woman in Paris, standing on a balcony in the black lace brassiere and thong she held, smoking a cigarette and smirking at the men who happened to look up and catch a glimpse of her, blowing a kiss to one who clutched his heart and shouted up to her. She hadn’t even put the clothes on and she felt more powerful, more sexual than she ever had. The new smile that she wore translated perfectly to Hannibal, a knowing grin spread across his lips.

When Hannibal felt they had exhausted their options for the moment, he sighed impatiently at her, eyeing bustiers modeled on mannequins against the wall. “I’ll be waiting in a dressing room,” he nodded, glancing out of the corner of his eye to ensure the shopkeeper was looking. With a swift movement he pulled her into a deep kiss, perhaps inappropriate for the setting, but he loved the way it set the woman’s teeth on edge. If she hated it so much that she would clearly be so rude to them, he would make her acknowledge it and he would make her watch. And with that he disappeared, leaving her to poke around one final time, picking up things she was too bashful to pick up with him watching.

“Hannibal?” She looked around for him, a door slowly opening as soon as the word left her lips, his face peeking out. He sat on the bench of the tiny stall, watching as she tried one after the other, examining herself first, envisioning him sliding her panties down in a frenzy, balling them in his fist, shoving them in her mouth to quiet her. Wait, what? When she was satisfied she turned to him, his decisions ruling out a few, some from each of their piles. He dressed her in emerald green silk and lace that made her feel dark and Victorian, it went into the pile to purchase. After struggling in some of her choices as far as fit, yet slipping perfectly into his (how the hell did he know her size better than she did? She found herself thinking), there was a rather large pile of lingerie to be purchased, and one last thing for her to try on. Hannibal’s job had been to neatly return everything to hangers, and he performed his duty as if it were the most important thing he’d do that day.

“Okay... Close your eyes please,” she chittered; turning around to quietly slip on what she’d been eyeing the whole time. It was a full set, lace panties, garter belt, and a tiny ¼ demi bra that sat just below her breasts, surprisingly supportive, as if there were anything to support. She found herself wishing she’d picked up a pair of stockings to attach to the garters as she slowly crawled onto his lap, straddling him, the belt riding up onto her waist.

He opened his eyes without an order, taking her in one inch at a time. He had only seconds to do so before she pulled him in for a hungry kiss, a newfound dominance in the way her tongue traced his lip and the grip of her fingers on his jaw. She pulled away breathless from her own assertiveness, bursting into giggles from the high of adrenaline.

“What are you laughing at…” He did not understand, and pulled away slightly to look at her.

“How ridiculous I feel.”

“Because of what you have on?”

She shakes her head in response, “because I’ve never felt sexy before.” Hannibal offered a slow nod, his smirk invisible to her, buried in his neck.

“Do you like it?” He personally did not love it. It didn’t necessarily offer her any favors in terms of her figure, but the way he grabbed her like that, that was a special feeling.

“I love it,” he smiled, eliciting a delighted squeal from the girl, and another kiss, “get dressed, let’s go before the woman comes and bashes down the door…”

She complied, standing and carefully pulling the delicate garments off, changing into her clothes once again. She couldn’t wait to banish her current wardrobe of undergarments to a drawer, only to come out when the nicer ones would possibly be ruined.

The scrutiny of the shopkeeper did not affect Abigail as it had before, and she clasped Hannibal’s hand with pride, clinging to him, thanking him with sick sweetness as he swiped his credit card in the reader. They left without another word, a business card with the woman’s name tucked into the bag he carried for her. Hannibal and Abigail strolled casually down the street with knowing smiles on their faces, attached to one another for the rest of the afternoon.


End file.
